


Poetry

by akaakeiji



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bad Poetry, Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Hinata Shouyou, Roommates, honestly it's so cheesy i'm sorry, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaakeiji/pseuds/akaakeiji
Summary: “Poetry,” Sugawara said, using all his fingertips to turn the document upside down, so to show them. “It’s, hmm, diff-““Romantic,” Hinata interrupted, scanning the poetry section on the paper, because he already knew the answer. It’s all cherry blossoms and cheesy things, “and Kageyama doesn’t do romantic, Suga-san.”“Oi! What-“ Kageyama started, getting red under his eyes, high on his cheeks.It was true, everyone knew. Kageyama was not comfortable with emotions unless they included volleyball, and it was not an offense, yet neither a compliment. And when Hinata had understood that, it was too late for his high school crush.“Hinata,” Suga-san scolded, and then cleared his throat to say, “poetry is not just about love and romance. There’s poetry about sadness and poetry on war and politics. It’s not all cheesy stuff.”“Well,” Hinata said, crossing his arms and looking at Kageyama, “I bet you would still fail."Where Hinata and Kageyama take a poetry class.





	Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> since it's Valentine's Day in a few days I thought I'd post this! Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy x

He doesn’t know how he ended up here, running late for his class, damp hair sticking to his neck and unzipped backpack on his shoulders.

Well, okay, maybe he does.

The volleyball team was not the only reason they had enrolled, because university was about academic education, and surely they wished for more than just tossing a ball around at any hour of the day. That was what their tutor said the first time they had a meeting.

Except, volleyball _was_ the only reason they had enrolled, and, no, they did not want more, thank you very much for your concern. That was their unison reply to their tutor. Alas, the argument was rather unconvincing.

As it turned out, two volleyball players at university could not just play volleyball; a bummer to Hinata, honestly. Inevitably, on top of their Sports Science degree - the science part sounded particularly scary to him -, they had to pick one Humanities class. They tried to argue the man out of it in any possible way, and even asked to do Finance instead of Humanities, but to no avail, for all the other courses either were full, or clashed with their practice sessions, or something that Hinata didn’t even bother to catch because he was fairly sure the tutor just wanted to torture them.

The whole university experience as everyone imagines it didn’t have a promising start, to be honest.

Hinata wasn’t up for the type of challenge. He had no actual idea what Humanities would be about, it just sounded boring. And Kageyama? Well, he was doomed to failure, obviously, because he had no concept of humanity _,_ or even _being_ human, Hinata thought. It was already the end, but they hadn’t even begun yet.

They had to roam the campus, brainstorming to find some kind of escape from the whole studying issue, surrounded by happier, most likely brighter students and the September air that filled their lungs with a warm but bearable breeze.

And as any hopeless first year would do, Hinata and Kageyama decided to seek help from their favourite senpai, who luckily happened to work at their student union.

They were tight in a tiny room that he called, ‘my office’, which barely had the space for a metal desk, the three chairs (of three different colours and models) around it and a tall grey drawer. Just the presence of Sugawara made it look crowded.

“What about Philosophy?” Sugawara asked. They both twisted their noses in a disgusted grimace.

Sighing, Suga-san printed out a list of potential subjects and rambled on about most of them, with various pros and cons, tapping his pen rhythmically every time he had a point. Despite his zest, all of them were rejected by either Kageyama or Hinata, or both (at some point during their brainstorming session, they had silently decided that they were in this together, like everything else, so they had to pick the same class).

“Well, this is the last resort, but I honestly think you should consider History or Contemporary Literature first..” Sugawara hummed, poking at the A4 sheet in front of him.

“What is it?” they asked, curious, and truthfully quite terrified. Hinata was seriously considering dropping university altogether.

“Poetry,” Sugawara said, using all his fingertips to turn the document upside down, so to show them. “It’s, hmm, diff-“

“Romantic,” Hinata interrupted, scanning the poetry section on the paper, because he already knew the answer. It’s all cherry blossoms and cheesy things, “and Kageyama doesn’t do romantic, Suga-san.”

“Oi! What-“ Kageyama started, getting red under his eyes, high on his cheeks.

It was true, everyone knew. Kageyama was not comfortable with emotions unless they included volleyball, and it was not an offense, yet neither a compliment. And when Hinata had understood that, it was too late for his high school crush.

“ _Hinata,”_ Suga-san scolded, and then cleared his throat to say, “poetry is not just about love and romance. There’s poetry about sadness and poetry on war and politics. It’s not all cheesy stuff.”

“Well,” Hinata said, crossing his arms and looking at Kageyama, “I bet you would still fail.”

Okay, he had to admit that in three years of high school he hadn’t done much growing, as far as the whole let’s-provoke-Kageyama thing was concerned.

“I’d do better than you, obviously!” Kageyama snapped, making his chair wobble with his big awkward angry body.

“You wish!”

“Guys, why does it always have to be a competition with you?”

But Kageyama and Hinata were already rushing outside with documents in their hands, shouting a, “Thank you, Suga-san!” on their way.

Four weeks have passed since that day, and Hinata wouldn’t even say it’s _that_ bad, if it weren’t for the 10:00 AM class on Thursdays. Honestly, who makes the timetables needs to have a look around and understand that nobody would willingly talk about poetry at least before noon, there is no way in hell anyone is that eager for something that isn’t volleyball; he’d wake up at 4am for that, or even skip sleep if necessary.

Anyhow, the 10:00 AM class happens to be the specific reason why he runs late and misses the first of the two hours. He sneaks in after the break, when people are returning from their coffee time.

Before getting his notes out of his bag, which he might have lost somewhere on his way, Hinata turns around to grab Kageyama’s attention, but his friend is just staring at his notebook as though he were mad at it. Eyebrows are furrowed as they should be, dark bangs are shielding his forehead as they always do, and fists obviously stretched on his desk. Well, nothing new there.

With a giggle Hinata settles on the first seat available and takes a moment to look at his friend. He is not being creepy whatsoever, he just wants to show his face and let Kageyama know that he got there, just in case he was waiting for him, or even better, was _worried_ about Hinata. He isn’t, obviously. He seems more concerned about his notebook.

Kageyama left their flat early in the morning to get his middle finger checked (he fractured it months ago during a practice match, so lame), so it’s been twelve, maybe thirteen hours since they last annoyed each other in some way.

There is a seat next to him, but Hinata knows he can’t take it, because _of course_ they were bickering during their very first class three weeks ago and they were kindly asked to stay away from each other since they didn’t get along.

Hinata rolls his eyes at the thought. Stupid professor. Just because he was pulling at Kageyama’s t-shirt yelling every offensive nickname he has come up with in the past three years, and Kageyama was pulling at his hair calling him a dumbass, it doesn’t mean that they don’t get along.

Sometimes, Hinata wishes they _didn’t._ Hinata wishes he could just tell his feelings to take a seat somewhere else because they do not get along with the rest of him and they only disturb the lesson, or, well.. his life in general, rather.

Kageyama is more than a friend to him. He doesn’t know when it started, exactly, but Hinata was surprised by his epiphany last year when a gorgeous boy asked him on a date and he said no, “I am dating someone else, sorry,” and it did not sound or feel like a lie.

Sometimes he wonders if Kageyama has never been involved in a relationship for the same reason, but then he is reminded that, negative, it’s just Kageyama being Kageyama.

He could have the entire world, Hinata believes, with his height and his blue eyes and his overall dorky but handsome look. But he is also dense, and shy when volleyball isn’t the topic, and after three years he is still afraid of rejection. So Hinata can only accept it, and try to hide his red face whenever Kageyama does something very hot, or very cute, or both at the same time - yes, it has happened.

“Ready to read your poems? I will pick randomly, and if you do not want to read yours out loud, just say so and I will read it in private later,” the professor says, sitting on her desk instead of using the chair, and Hinata has no idea what she is on about.

He asks to a girl next to him, as quietly as he can, and after a weird look she informs him: they had thirty minutes to write a poem before the break, just an exercise to experience what writing poetry means.

Hinata blinks a few times before letting an internal scream. It doesn’t matter if there won’t be a mark, he _cannot_ make a fool of himself if his turn comes, especially not in front of I-do-better-than-you-kun (Kageyama).

Since the theme is ‘the elements’, he writes a five line stanza - yes, exactly, he knows the jargon now - about wind and running, thinking about the feeling of racing I-run-faster-than-you-kun (still Kageyama). He adds something about the fire in his chest when he is happy, imagining winning nationals again, and he’s already done before the third amateur poet gets his awkward round of applause.

Hands are still clapping when Hinata hears the next name, _Kageyama Tobio_.

“Oh, oh,” Hinata almost shouts, covering his face to hide his smirk. This is it. This is when Hinata will win the challenge, when Kageyama will admit defeat and say Hinata is better than him.

See, Hinata here is the one who feels too many things, joy and disappointment and excitement and nervousness all at the same time. No, that’s not it. Hinata is the one who acknowledges them, in some way or another, the one who screams and laughs, jumps and flinches. And, he’s sure, Kageyama is the same behind his grumpy wrinkly forehead, but only a selected few have the ability to look through his stoic, Hinata would publicly call it dumb, face.

Kageyama stands up abruptly and seems to plan his next move. “ _Should I read it out loud. How embarrassing, I’m just going to hand it to her. Wait, that would mean I’d lose,”_ he must be thinking, if his frown is anything to go by. Hinata has seen that face many times before. Kageyama looks like he wants to punch someone and now Hinata is glad there is distance between them. Finally, Kageyama settles on his decision and clears his throat.

He starts speaking, and Hinata listens. First, with a smirk on his face, almost giggling, but after the first three lines he is in awe, feeling Kageyama’s low tone, a Timidyama thing, in his soul, and curling his fingers on his jeans because Kageyama’s voice cannot keep a steady volume, so it cracks and he has to clear his throat repeatedly, mumbling sorrys.

It is almost like watching Kageyama play while he is not in the court, but not quite. On those occasions, Hinata is filled with admiration, and annoyance, and the desire to improve and reach Kageyama’s level. Here, Hinata is surprised, and stares at Kageyama with a prickling feeling in his heart.

The poem is not long, and it’s not that great, but Hinata listens.

 

_Like water,_

_an annoying loud storm._

_Like earth,_

_the ground beneath my feet._

_And like fire,_

_the sun burning the skin,_

_shouting, “I’m here!”_

_Finally, like air._

_Essential._

_Water speaks to me,_

_earth runs next to me,_

_and fire smiles at me_

_while air plays with my lungs._

The twenty people in the room clap, but while Kageyama walks to hand his notes to their professor, snickers are heard, and Hinata sees a few people whispering in each other’s ears, and Kageyama must be feeling _all of it_ , because he looks _tiny._ He’s big, very big compared to Hinata, but his shoulders are bent and his head is low and Hinata wants to stand up and spike a volleyball in everybody’s faces.

There’s only one moment that Kageyama spares to look in his direction, and it’s the moment he freezes on the spot. Hinata offers him a bright smile, instead, but Kageyama doesn’t really move. His blue eyes remind him of that time Hinata frightened him during training camp and then ran for his life as Kageyama chased him down the stairs. He takes his eyes off Hinata soon and then he can’t be seen anymore, hidden behind another person.

Hinata contemplates Kageyama’s poem for the rest of the class; he cannot think about anything else. Again, it wasn’t great; he won’t win a Nobel Prize, and some people would say it was utter rubbish, but Hinata liked it. He _loved_ it. Kageyama Tobio has, for the first time, expressed himself in something that is not volleyball, or grunts.

Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t really the first time. Once, Kageyama told Hinata that he was sad for the third years leaving, and again the year that followed. On their last day of high-school, he thanked Hinata for always trusting him and his tosses, words that somehow ended with ‘shut up, dumbass.’ Each time he does something more, speaks a little louder, ruffles Hinata’s hair or pats his shoulder without hurting him in the process, and sometimes his fingers linger a little bit more. And those are the moments when Hinata grows a little fonder, falls deeper.

-

He has to run after Kageyama.

His best friend is rushing out faster than ever, and Hinata barely sees his dark hair and black hoodie flying before his eyes.

“Oi, Bakageyama, that wasn’t fair!” Hinata shouts, catching up. When he understands that Kageyama has no intention to stop, or even slow down, he does one last sprint and pulls his arm, forcing him to halt awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” Kageyama genuinely asks, a bit hysterically.

“What are _you_ doing?” Hinata points his finger at him.

“Me? I was just…” Kageyama finally finds a stable position on his feet. He looks terrible. Well, he still looks good, Hinata admits to himself, but his dark circles and his pallor do not suit him. “Nevermind,” he sighs.

“Alright,” Hinata says, without pushing his question further. “Lunch?”

Kageyama nods and they walk in silence for three, maybe four minutes - Hinata thinks it’s five, actually, because it definitely feels like forever - until he cannot keep it to himself and he confesses, “That was awesome, Kageyama! It was _waaah_! so cool!” He blushes right after, regretting it. “I mean,” he coughs, “it was okay, you did alright.”

Kageyama stills for a second and clears his throat - oh, he is embarrassed. “What are you talking about, dumbass?” He doesn’t look at Hinata in the eyes, but above him; definitely embarrassed.

“The poem, idiot, what else?” Hinata answers, and fixes his hair after Kageyama grabs it in his what-did-you-just-say way.

“Don’t know, sometimes I think you just like to say that for fun,” Kageyama mumbles and then Hinata is calling him an idiot again and getting his hair grabbed _again_.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, and Hinata enjoys looking at all the new things he saw walking around the first day in campus, which have already become so ordinary so quickly. The wall full of paintings made by Art students, and the huge amount of trophies exposed near the exit of the building, and the green areas outside that are decorated with people sitting and chatting and listening to music. Sometimes it just looks like the postcards they sell in the shop down the road.

“Did you really like it? I didn’t even think you were there, I thought you’d skipped class,” Kageyama breaks the silence. He looks… suspicious? Hinata has seen that look on Kageyama’s face before and he’d definitely say it’s suspicious (it features narrowed eyes that make his eyebrows sink while his lips curl up in an odd pout), but the context is very different, which makes _him_ suspicious. Hinata goes over the words he just said to check for some kind of gay evidence of his crush. Not found.

“Mmm, yeah? It was cool. I mean, I wrote about the same thing but I definitely lost to you this time,” Hinata tries to say nonchalantly, locking his hands at the back of his neck. Kageyama’s poem was also about volleyball (Hinata wouldn’t expect anything else), but it made Hinata _feel_ warm things inside, for some reason.

“What do you mean?” Kageyama asks abruptly, fixing the strap of his bag, “what did you write about?”

“Volleyball, duh?” Hinata rolls his eyes, “I can’t believe you stole my idea!” He pushes his friend gently, with a smile on his face, but Kageyama doesn’t growl or reacts, instead stumbles for a second and stares at Hinata. It’s quite uncomfortable, when Hinata can’t decipher Kageyama’s expression; it’s scary. “What?”

Kageyama seems to return in himself, shaking his head. “Nothing… nevermind.” In a sigh, his bangs flutter up a bit and he doesn’t bother to fix them, so Hinata doesn’t worry about the pending matter too much in favour of appreciating Kageyama’s clear forehead and fantasizing about running his hand through his dark hair to expose his face more. He tried to touch it once, standing on a bench while Kageyama sat drinking water, and he received a shocked look in response, as opposed to the angry glare he was expecting, which was enough of a good reaction for Hinata.

In the blink of an eye, his mind goes off at a tangent, and touching Kageyama’s hair turns into touching his face and his neck and then Kageyama whispering verses in his ear and-

“Idiot, look where you’re going!” Kageyama growls, his hand around Hinata’s arm as he saves him from a highly visible street sign.

Hinata yelps and stumbles, embarrassed. He scratches his neck and laughs it off, thanking Kageyama.

“What were you dreaming about, dumbass? You were staring at a tree in a weird way,” Kageyama scoffs, zipping up his bomber jacket (the blue and gold one that he bought because Hinata would not stop yelling over how good it looked on him, which turned out to be a huge mistake on his part).

Hinata is admittedly terrible at lying, dreadful to even witness, so he goes for the good old Reply With Another Question Technique: “What weird way? I don’t stare in a weird way, that’s what _you_ do.”

“I do not! Your eyes get all shiny and big and your cheeks are red,” Kageyama murmurs, as though he was embarrassed about something, “it’s like when you’re looking at a volleyball, or thinking about volleyball, but weirder,” he points out.

Hinata chokes on the air he’s breathing, his cheeks flushing. Does he really look like that when he thinks about Kageyama? How many times has Kageyama seen him while he allegedly “thought about volleyball”? Does Kageyama _know_ that Hinata likes him as much as he likes volleyball? _Waaaah!_ Why is he comparing volleyball to Kageyama now? And what if-

“Now you look like you’re going to throw up,” Kageyama scoffs, and as a few rays of sunshine hit his face, luminous strikes highlight his cheeks and his nose, and Hinata can see the feeble freckles and the sunlight reflected in Kageyama’s blue eyes as he stops at the front of the nearest cafe.

It’s so… frustrating, the effect he has on Hinata even on the most common occasions. He feels restless, awkward, like he desperately wants to do something. It is like volleyball, he assumes. He wants to see Kageyama as much as he wants to play volleyball, and he talks about him with the same intensity he uses when he talks about matches, and his hands ache to touch him, too. At least with volleyball, though, he ultimately learned how to receive properly with his hands and not his face (although that still happens, sometimes), but how could he possibly learn a proper way to receive _this_ every time, without feeling like he just got hit in the nose by one of Ushiwaka’s serves?

Hinata tries to recompose himself as Kageyama opens the door for them. He fixes his hair, breathes in, tilts his chin up and he’s fine, he’s okay.

-

“Volleyball,” Suga-san hums, accurately folding the pile of documents in his hands, “are you sure?”

Hinata makes little hops with his chair to reach the desk in the office, and tries to remember Kageyama’s verses, chin on the palm of his hand. After a week, he can’t exactly remember the words, with that stupid memory of his (which Kageyama has been adamantly refusing to refresh), but he recalls how he felt connected to the poem, sharing the same feelings. And if he knows Kageyama well (he does), there is no doubt that the poem was about volleyball.

What else is there?

He nods. “It was so good, Suga-san, it almost made me cry.” It didn’t, obviously, but the point stands. “And I can’t accept that! I can’t lose against Kageyama in something like this!” he growls.

Suga-san gives him one of his knowing smiles, the ones that seem to hide the secrets of the universe. “What did it say, precisely?”

Hinata tells what he can remember, a bit confusedly, about the sun and the fire, and the running, and he explains the connections with volleyball, the same Hinata made.

“So why did you lose to him, if the poem was the same?” Suga-san wonders, and Hinata’s stare is stolen by a crow outside the window, its wings spread and the sunlight forcing its way through the feathers.

“It wasn’t the same!” Kageyama’s poem was different, that’s Hinata’s reason. He hasn’t even shown his own work to his friend; he knows they can’t be compared. Hinata was happy with himself and his poem when he wrote it, don’t get him wrong, but Kageyama’s had something _more_ , depth, mystery and warmth, not to be found in Hinata’s.

Maybe it was just the way Kageyama spoke during class, or maybe it was just Hinata having a massive and outright mature crush on the guy, he doesn’t really know.

“Why don’t you write another one, then? If you really want to win this… thing, show him what you’ve got, uh?”

And so Hinata tries.

He leaves Suga-san’s office with a grin on his face and excitement in his heart. The feeling is soon gone when he goes home and closes the door of his room to write. He stares at a blank page on his laptop, then glares at the notes on his phone and, finally, thinking that maybe old traditions might be more inspiring, he frowns at his notebook, biting his pen.

And like this, between exams and essays and volleyball, weeks go by. More balls of paper get spiked into the bin next to his bed and more storage on his phone is taken up by unfinished virtual notes.

Kageyama notices it, at some point. Hinata is glaring at the blank notebook on his lap, his door open. Kageyama walks past once, wearing a hoodie and his old shorts from Karasuno and doesn’t look inside; he throws his insults at something in the kitchen, flicks the lights off and makes his way back to his room, walking by Hinata’s door again, and Hinata tries to ignore him, again. After he disappears from Hinata’s sight, he doesn’t even have the time to take a breath that Kageyama is standing at his door, frowning, obviously.

“What?” Hinata asks.

“You’ve been weird,” Kageyama replies and Hinata tries to hide his nerves with some scoffing.

“You’re always weird, and I’ve never come to your room to remind you,” Hinata laughs and when one of Kageyama’s eyebrows rises, he admits, “Okay, maybe once… _twice_ , okay, well, your point?”

Kageyama thinks about his next words with a pout that tends to the left side of his cheek, digging a weak dimple at the corner of his mouth. “You’re… hmm… I have… damn it, I mean-”

Hinata can’t help the giggles that escape his mouth. “I’m what? Kageyama, I still can’t speak Kageyamese, so please take your time to elaborate,” he says, but in truth he knows that Kageyama only mumbles with Hinata when he’s embarrassed, something that he finds extremely endearing because, since the very beginning, Hinata has never held back a word whereas Kageyama has these sudden rushes of timidness that Hinata can’t really place. Okay, that was false, he’s kept many words to himself, but that is a totally different topic and Hinata has his valid reasons to stay silent about said topic.

Kageyama has only taken a step inside his room, so his back is in the dark and the rest of his body is illuminated by the very warm light bulb of Hinata’s room. Hinata takes a second to appreciate the tiniest of buns that flutters on Kageyama’s head, the way he ties his bangs when he has to look down to study (a sight reserved solely to Hinata, because it’s never done outside the flat). The pair of shorts he’s wearing is probably their first year’s pair; Kageyama’s thighs seem a bit too big for them, so Hinata can recognize the lines of his muscles beneath the fabric.

“You’re avoiding me,” Kageyama accuses him, at last.

Hinata stops his thoughts and chokes on the air he is breathing as he’s trying to formulate some kind of reply. Avoiding Kageyama, _tch!_ He wishes he were capable of it.

“Oi, dumbass, don’t die.” Kageyama walks closer to tap Hinata’s back.

After a few moments, Hinata recovers and stares. He stares because, since the day they first met, being around Kageyama has grown to be, outside volleyball, his favourite activity, but he thought that it didn’t mean anything to Kageyama or, at least, not as much as it means to Hinata.

“I’m not avoiding you, Bakageyama,” Hinata rolls his eyes and kicks Kageyama’s shin playfully, “I was just working on something.”

Kageyama frowns, confused. “What is it?”

Even though Hinata finds the situation slightly embarrassing and would like to come up with some kind of excuse, he can’t find a reason to lie. “A poem,” he answers, “but I’m giving up so I can go back to annoying you as I always do.” He smiles, brightly.

Kageyama doesn’t speak for a while, but only stares at Hinata’s hair. When he finally talks, he asks, “Is it still about the ones we read in class?”

“It’s about the one _you_ read in class,” Hinata huffs, resigning to the idea that Kageyama will probably laugh at him. “I definitely lost to you that time, so I wanted to write something as cool as yours but I can’t,” he confesses, nervously giggling and scratching his head.

“I got a D,” Kageyama deadpans, looking as though he didn’t care, stoic on the surface but oddly awkward beneath it. “Something wrong with the metric and the meaning.” He shrugs, calm and uninterested because the mark was formative anyway.

“ _Whaaaat_?” Hinata cries, grabbing a pillow and pushing himself on his knees to look at Kageyama better from his bed. “I thought it was amazing! It was so… so…” and it’s exactly in this moment, as he tries to find the word that fits best, that he realizes what was amiss about Hinata’s first poem and all his other attempts, what Kageyama’s poem really was. “Romantic.”

“Shut up,” Kageyama says, and Hinata sees something like a blush on his ears and around his neck. He doesn’t brag, or even mention when Hinata said that he could not be romantic, thankfully.

“Woah, Kageyama, you sure love volleyball,” he chants, flopping on the mattress. He faces the ceiling but with the corner of his eyes sees his friend fidgeting beside the bed, silent.

Kageyama clears his throat, which makes Hinata’s head spin all the way to look at him. “We both do,” he starts, still red on his ears and neck, and cheeks, Hinata notices, “but my poem was not about volleyball,” he utters the words in a low voice and waits only two seconds, before disappearing in the dark of the rest of their shared flat.

Hinata does not get up afterwards. He stares at the ceiling hugging his volleyball until the noises coming from the shop next door quiet down and the lights are off.

He struggles to fall asleep. First, he’s so extremely hungry that his tummy has started speaking its own language and, second, but definitely most important, Kageyama’s poem was about someone and Hinata is immensely confused because of it.

Hinata might be a simple minded orange head, but he is not that dense; if the poem was not about volleyball (or dairy products, which Hinata also considered) then it was obviously about a person, a _human being_ , and Hinata has been blind for who knows how long because since when does Kageyama like human beings?

Maybe Hinata _is_ that dense.

He realizes that he’s drifting off when the ball he was clutching leaves his grip to bounce somewhere else in his room.

-

When he wakes up the next day, Kageyama is already gone, and the shoes missing from the doorway tell Hinata that he went for a run. He’s grateful, because he still hasn’t figured out how he will deal with him. One thing is ignoring someone that you see a few times a week, but avoiding your flatmate, your classmate and your teammate is a thoroughly different scenario.

Naturally, it’s only a few hours later that he steps into the gym to find Kageyama and the captain of the team ready for practice.

He does a little bow and smiles shyly to his senpai. “Good afternoon, captain!” He squeaks, and then eyes Kageyama for a moment, “... and Kageyama,” he acknowledges, awkwardly, before skipping to change his clothes.

After that, practice is not too bad. Throughout the years, they have learnt to ignore their personal quarrels on the court, so even though they might lack their optimal chemistry, no big mistakes occur during a match against the second years.

“Good job everyone!” the captain’s voice echoes through the gym in the end, “stretching and cleaning time!”

Everyone sighs or drops on the floor, exhausted, and then the captain speaks again. “You two.”

Hinata, who was just staring at the floor while stretching his back, raises his head, somehow feeling called out. Good intuition, indeed, because the captain’s fingers are pointing at his own sweaty pale body and Kageyama’s, who’s rolling his ankles just a few teammates away.

“Fix whatever love problem you have before Friday, or I’ll change regulars.”

In response, Hinata can only blush, utter a, “ _Eek!”_ because of the dreadful prospect _,_ and nod, while Kageyama stares at his shoes doing tiny but repetitive nods that make Hinata’s heart twist like the mop one of his teammates is using.

 _Love_ , he said. Hinata wonders if his crush is that obvious.

After the embarrassing moment, Hinata settles on confronting Kageyama. When stretched, he hurries to carry on with his last tasks and finish before Kageyama can run away without him.

Luckily, he steps out slipping into his beanie before his friend, so they inevitably have to walk home together. In truth, Hinata doesn’t really know what to say to Kageyama, doesn’t really understand how he feels.

He’s mad, mostly, and the reason is not jealousy (at least not completely), but the idea that Hinata, Kageyama’s first real friend and partner in volleyball, the person who can easily distinguish the numerous minimal variations of Kageyama’s facial expressions and recognize whether he is in a milk or yogourt mood, has been in the dark about it.

How long has it been? Weeks? Months, perhaps? And caught up in his stupid crush and poetry obsession he has not noticed.

He’s proud of being Kageyama’s emotion interpreter, and the boy who sits next to him during team trips, and the one who gets to share his meat bun, and even the friend who doesn’t make him sound stupid. Yet, he failed this time, so he has no choice but to ask Kageyama directly and face the bitter reality.

Before Kageyama appears, the rest of the team jumps out laughing and telling Hinata about the funny movements that he managed to perform earlier and he is left blushing and giggling on the last step of the building.

The sun is almost entirely gone, being a November evening, and in the dark he almost flinches when Kageyama’s tall figure materializes behind him. He looks at Hinata and his eyes widen for less than an instant, but he starts walking in silence.

“Why are you wearing a mask? Are you sick?” Hinata asks, eyeing the piece of black cloth that covers part of Kageyama’s face. When Hinata wears masks, on rare and health related occasions, they cover so much of his small round face that he can barely see, and his habit of scratching his head makes them fall every time. But masks look nice on Kageyama, much more proportioned and… cool, he’d say. They don’t cover all his nose, but make him look almost pleasantly mysterious.

“My nose is cold,” Kageyama replies through the fabric, sniffling a bit.

Hinata also notices the mess he’s wearing: he has his blue tracksuit and his white outdoor shoes, which are appropriate and completely fine, but wrapped on top he’s wearing the black long trench coat that Hinata also made him buy because he enjoys this type of suffering, which is _not_ appropriate or fine whatsoever but somehow Kageyama looks _nice._

Hinata keeps walking, torn between the desire and the fear to talk about what Kageyama said last night and his poem, until they’re almost home.

“Hey, Kageyama,” he calls, winning his friend’s attention, “can I ask you something?”

Hinata hears the sound of four steps on the concrete and a pebble rolling somewhere in the dark.

They’re taking a warmly lit shortcut that leads them through a small square and a staircase.

“About the poem?” Kageyama sighs, and Hinata nods frantically. Knowing Hinata well, and expecting his reaction, he asks, “Are you going to ask anyway even if I say no?”

Hinata thinks about it and… well, more nods are the only honest answer he can give. So Kageyama sighs and urges him to just speak up.

After some thinking, Hinata ends up asking, “Was it about someone you like?” He rolls the hem of his beanie up and down again.

And after some more thinking, it’s Kageyama’s turn to nod, and Hinata forces a breath in as his heart hops in his chest. He has to slide his fists into the pockets of his jacket and push push push down to keep a straight face.

He stops before the first set of stairs that lead to their block. There are thirty tight but high steps interrupted by an intermediate landing on the fourteenth step, Hinata’s counted them before.

“Do I know them?” Hinata wonders nonchalantly, but actually freaking out because imagine how awkward it would be if Kageyama had a crush on Yachi or any of their friends.

Kageyama shrugs and rushes up, halting only on the fourteenth step when Hinata grabs him from one of his belt loops and yells,”Oi!”

“Hinata!” Kageyama growls, facing him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Hinata murmurs with a  dissatisfied pout. Honestly, he doesn’t understand what the problem is, why Kageyama is avoiding the topic. Hinata is the one who will end up heartbroken after this conversation anyway.

“Me?!” Kageyama starts, “ _you_ ’ve been obsessing over this thing for weeks and there’s something wrong with _me_?”

Hinata lets his hands in his pockets again, feeling flustered. He just wants to know, okay? They’re best friends, and best friends speak with each other, so that’s what he tells Kageyama.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s..” Kageyama murmurs, suddenly softening his voice, still suffocated by the mask he’s wearing. His eyes are so dark, they almost look black. “It’s nothing,” he says.

“It isn’t nothing!” Hinata insists, “You should be all _gwaah!_ And come to my room to talk about your crush or something..” Hinata doesn’t really know, and honestly he doesn’t really want to talk about Kageyama’s crush, even though he is happy for him. It’s complicated.

“Shut up, dumbass. I just told you it’s nothing,” Kageyama grunts again, scratching his neck, “let’s go home.” He continues his walk, looking down.

Hinata doesn’t get it. Kageyama might ignore Hinata’s childish requests sometimes, but he never lies to him and he doesn’t leave him out.

He catches up with Kageyama and then surpasses him until Hinata is at the top of the stairway, looking down at him.

“Bakageyama! Come on!” he insists, standing on Kageyama’s path and jumping around to block the passage.

Kageyama curses a few times, tries to kick him or just grab him in some way, but pointlessly. Hinata starts giggling and forgets about what’s happening for a moment.

Unsurprisingly done with his behaviour, Kageyama pulls the mask under his chin, screaming, “Christ, Hinata! I can’t tell you!” 

“Why?” Hinata asks, honestly curious. It’s one thing if Kageyama doesn’t want to tell him, which is specifically why he’s been acting like this, but what does he mean he _can’t_?

“I… it’s complicated. It could ruin everything,” he claims, digging his fingers in his forehead. “It could ruin _volleyball_ ,” he explains, looking exasperatedly at Hinata, saying ‘please, understand.’

And Hinata understands. “Is it one of our senpais?” he wonders, trying to figure out who could be Kageyama’s type. “Oh my, is it Nishinoya-senpai?” He tries first, and as he lists all the other teammates (benches included), Kageyama’s replies variate from a, “tch,” to, “shut up,” or, “dumbass,” or just grunts and funny faces.

At some point, he realizes that he automatically assumed that Kageyama has a crush on a guy, so he adds, “Woah! Is it one of the managers?”

“God, Hinata, how can you be so stupid?” Kageyama asks, in his voice a type of frustration that makes Hinata’s heart beat faster. It’s usually the feeling before a big argument. “You said everyone’s name except one.”

Hinata looks up, fingers holding his chin and the picture of the whole team stuck in his brain. He’s sure he said everyone’s name. “Bakageyama, the only person that I haven’t named is-“

“You,” Kageyama utters, gripping the railing.

Hinata gasps, stumbling. Kageyama is obviously joking, isn’t he? He just wants to tease Hinata and get away. “Me?!” Hinata squeaks.

Kageyama then looks up, playing with the strings of his mask. He doesn’t answer, or nod, or shake his head. He just stares (frowns) at Hinata like he’s trying to communicate something, and Hinata gets it.

At least, he hopes, otherwise it would be hard to explain why he is pushing his lips on Kageyama’s, stumbling as he grabs his shoulders. Three, four, five seconds pass and, _eek!_ What is he doing, exactly? He doesn’t even know how to kiss, dumbass Hinata! Can he move his lips? Why isn’t Kageyama pushing him away yet? And why is this nice?

Kageyama’s lips are still warm from wearing the mask, but they’re stiff, so Hinata forces his eyes open. He isn’t really surprised to see that Kageyama eyes are open and frozen, too, but instead of pulling back, Hinata just goes for it. He moves his lips in some way and is satisfied to see that Kageyama reacts to him this time, and as he feels more comfortable he closes his eyes again, trusting that it’ll be alright, as he did that first time he spiked with his eyes shut.

He has no knowledge of what he’s doing with his teeth but at some point Kageyama lets out a noise after excruciating seconds of nothing and Hinata is _scared._ What has he been doing, dear god.

He pulls back and screams, “I shower first!” before running home.

When he gets there, Kageyama is not behind him, and he has the time to get his stuff around the house unphased.

He takes his time in the shower, wishing that the warm water could calm his nerves, but it’s useless. Warm water can’t cool off warm feelings.

He slaps himself, because surely he’s stuck in a dream (or a nightmare where Kageyama now comes for his life) and he has to wake up.

He squeezes shampoo on his hair and almost trips as he turns restlessly in the shower.

Thinking about it, Kageyama might be right; Hinata is a dumbass.

The reason why he liked the poem so much wasn’t because it was good. It talked about Hinata and Kageyama, and the things they do together. And he is an idiot, really, because Hinata’s own verses had Kageyama in them, too.

He turns off the tap and sighs, allowing himself to feel content. He’s still scared, very scared, because for better or worse, things won’t be the same after the kiss. Oh, shit, they kissed.

Hinata has to leave the steamy bathroom or he will suffocate from overheating. He tip toes, hoping to at least meet Kageyama again with dry hair and underwear on, after the stupid scene he put up earlier.

In his room, he’s quick to dry his hair and get in his sleep uniform (Kageyama called pajamas like this once during a training camp, making it an inside joke among the Karasuno members).

As he flops on his bed, he hears the shower running in the bathroom, and his heart starts beating fast again. On one hand, he hates this, this uncomfortable feeling of expecting something. It’s almost like the anxiety before stepping on the court to serve after someone has just scored an amazing point and Hinata doesn’t want to ruin the momentum. But now it’s worse, so much worse.

Nonetheless, the warm feeling in Hinata’s chest, which radiates so that his cheeks, ears and hands are getting hot, is nice, and it doesn’t want to go away.

He turns on a lamp and grabs the notebook he has been using for his poetry thing, and instead starts doodling. He’s never been good at drawing, but scribbling patterns or drawing volleyballs with faces has always been a good pastime at school.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about Kageyama, quite the opposite. He can’t shake his smile away and can’t bring himself to stop daydreaming about kissing Kageyama again, maybe a bit better.

His mind also goes to Suga-san, and his advice, and his habit to push Kageyama and Hinata together as though he knew (quite definitely).

Well, idle pastimes are of no use when Hinata feels so restless, his body so tingling with anticipation. It’s about time, he thinks, to gather the courage and do something.

-

“Yeah?” Kageyama replies tentatively when Hinata goes knocking on his door.

He enters quietly, glad that only a deem light is on. Kageyama would notice his red face right away otherwise.

Kageyama is now in his hoodie and shorts, leg crossed on his bed, back to the wall. _Ah_ , his hair is always a bit wavy and parted after he dries it, and Hinata would say it’s one of his favourite Kageyamas, but he learned that his bangs just fall naturally where they usually are, covering his entire forehead, and Kageyama can’t do much about it.

There’s something so angelic and gentle in the scene, in Kageyama’s eyes and the softness of the colours around him, from white to light blue to dark blue and then black. To an outsider, Kageyama would look the same as ever: scary, maybe stoic, perhaps dull or boring, but not to Hinata. He just looks warm, possibly troubled by some wrinkling thoughts, but overall welcoming and nice, he guesses.

“Hmm, about earlier,” Hinata attempts, his hands sweating, “I’m sorry for running off,” he apologizes,  “I didn’t mean to.” He looks down at his socks, noticing unimpressed that they’re different.

“But you did,” replies Kageyama, in that grumpy tone of voice he uses when he wants to hold a grudge.

Hinata apologizes again and explains, “I was just like, _gwaah_! And I didn’t know what to do.”

“You started it, though,” Kageyama says, gripping his ankles inattentively.

Hinata can’t help a giggle. “Yeah,” he laughs. He guesses it is like himself to act like that, to just go for it and realize halfway through that he doesn’t know the basics, to just blindly trust that it will work out.

It does, though, work out; at least most of the times.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because you said you liked me,” Hinata replies, simply.

“I didn’t say that,” murmurs Kageyama in return.

At that, Hinata frowns and nervously knots his hands behind his back, leaning towards the bed. “You said the poem was about someone you like, and then said that it was about me.”

“But I never said ‘I like you, Hinata Shouyou.’” The way Kageyama speaks those words makes Hinata’s heart hop in his chest and brings redness to his cheeks again.

“You just did, though.”

“Yeah,” Kageyama replies with a sigh, stretching his legs in front of him and fixing the pillow behind his back.

“So you do like me, right?”

“Right,” Kageyama admits, and if he could, Hinata would run around the house in desperate search of something cool to say, something non-embarrassing and normal.

“So we can kiss again, right?” is what comes out of his mouth.

Kageyama’s breathing stops for a second and recovers right after, like a half-silent gasp that Hinata is able to notice. “Y-yeah,” he agrees at last.

Hinata sits on the bed and smiles, beams at Kageyama in an attempt to radiate the warmth inside him, trying to let it out and avoid a sudden autocombustion. His cheeks don’t seem inclined to recover their paler colour and his fingers are sweaty; he has to discreetly wipe his hands on his clothes.

Taking a look at Kageyama, he doesn’t seem in a better condition, which makes Hinata at ease, somehow, and he decides to go for it, again. And he closes his eyes, and bends down to meet Kageyama’s lips, and it hurts when their noses collide instead, because both of them are idiots that keep their eyes closed.

Hinata giggles, holding his nose, and Kageyama growls as a sneeze forces his way out and he’s the one who has to wipe his hands on his shorts now.

When they manage to kiss, it’s better than the first time, and Hinata hopes to have better kisses every time because they’re nice, he thinks. Soap opera producers would disagree, though, because he doesn’t feel like in TV, the scene wouldn’t be that awe-inspiring. He’s just resting a hand on Kageyama’s thigh to balance himself and nothing else is moving.

But it’s a good way to let that warmth out, to send it somewhere and let Kageyama feel it as well. Maybe that’s why Kageyama compared Hinata to fire, now he understands.

Hinata doesn’t know how he should breathe while his mouth is busy with Kageyama’s, neither of them do, hence they end up pulling apart gasping for air. Everything lasted ten seconds, more or less. Kageyama looks content, Hinata would argue. He has colour on his cheeks and his eyes are a darker blue than usual, but somehow brighter.

Hinata licks his lips, glad to feel the weight of a long and difficult crush rolling off his shoulders and the taste of the mint creams they keep in a drawer in the kitchen.

“If the poem was about me,” Hinata starts, after a few more moments of kissing practice, and hears Kageyama’s loud and desperate sigh in response. “Why am I like the sun?” He asks, curiously.

Kageyama’s reply is peculiar. He looks confused at first and then asks, “You don’t even realize, do you?”

No, Hinata doesn’t, and Kageyama isn’t willing to explain it to him, or any of the other things he wrote. It’s embarrassing, he claims.

“I wrote a poem about you too earlier,” he admits, hoping that maybe Kageyama will give in and enlight him later.

“Yeah?” Kageyama scoffs, and does something that surprises and thrills Hinata: nonchalantly, almost naturally, he pulls him into a more comfortable position, and slips his hand under Hinata’s shirt. It’s an innocent gesture, Hinata doesn’t think he noticed, even, which makes it even better. Kageyama is comfortable enough to be tapping his fingers on his skin casually and spontaneously, and Hinata is happy. He won’t admit it yet, but Kageyama can do romance.

Hinata nods, proudly, and out of his pockets pulls a piece of paper that he tore from his notebook earlier.

He shows it to Kageyama, and he’s not surprised to hear a, “dumbass,” in response, yet he is surprised when a red-cheeked Kageyama grabs his hair with a frown but pulls him in for a kiss (for the first time).

Hinata giggles, dropping his poem on the floor as he moves closer to Kageyama.

_Roses are red,_

_Balls are yellow and blue,_

_Volleyball is the best,_

_but I like Kageyama too._

**Author's Note:**

> many many thanks to [Art](https://modernart2012.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me and [applepsi](http://applepsi.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for proof-reading it and giving me the support I don't really deserve <3
> 
> also, please don't take the poetry seriously I'm not a poet hehe


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